


Smoke 'em Out, He Says

by PastelMess



Series: Songfics [6]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:13:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelMess/pseuds/PastelMess
Summary: "We all have crazy minds to clean.""I hate you," his voice is hushed, "I fucking hate you."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/gifts).



> Inspired heavily by the Heavydirtysoul music video. I loved it.
> 
> I thought of Edy the entire time I wrote this so I feel like this dedicating it to one of my favourite authors is acceptable. Like I said. You're so fucking talented. I know you'll go so far in life.

It’s quiet.

He doesn’t have the radio playing. Silence swallows him whole and he embraces it as his rusty black car swerves back and forth on the two lane road. The ground is coated in snow, and he’s surrounded by trees. They run up both sides of the road and stand tall, their branches reaching towards the sky, towards the freedom he seeks. It’s dark too, pitch black, except for where his headlights shine. There, it’s bright. Too bright. It hurts his eyes.

He laughs. He hasn’t laughed in so long, and it hurts his chest, it hurts too much. This world is too much for him. He doesn’t belong here, he knows he doesn’t _deserve_ to belong here. His soul is filthy, dirty, disgusting, coated in so much tar it should hardly be considered a soul. And he knows it’s only going to get worse, the longer he stays alive.

His car swerves too far to the right, his tires thumping against the shoulder until two are dragging in the grass. The entire car shakes as he laughs again. It’s a heavy, solemn laugh. He lets go of the wheel and closes his eyes as he presses harder on the gas pedal. _Faster, faster._

Death inspired him. Death was all he ever thought about. And now, so close to sweet release-

The front of the car crashes into a heavy oak tree and crumples like an accordion. His body becomes a ragdoll as he crashes through the windshield, landing in a tangled mess right outside. The car itself burst into flames.

He has glass embedded into his skin. Blood coats him like a soft blanket. He smiles, ear to ear, up at the snow falling from the sky. This is it. He did it. He really did it.

He closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

-

“He looks like he’s in his late twenties,” says one paramedic as Tyler is heaved into an ambulance. “Crash was bad. He’s in critical condition.”

“Glad I’m not the one who has to tell his family,” says the other. They work quickly as the truck moves along to the hospital. Tyler isn’t awake. He doesn’t wake up for awhile.

In fact, when he does wake up, it’s a couple weeks later, with his family surrounding him. Tyler screams. He failed. He fucking failed.

“You were in a car accident sweetheart,” his mother tells him, like he didn’t already fucking know that, “You’re so lucky they were able to save you.” His arm is broken, his leg is broken, and he’s littered in bruises. Tyler doesn’t speak. He refuses.

“A man saw the fire. He saved your life.” her eyes are wet with tears. Tyler hates the man that found him. “Honey, how could you be so reckless?”

Tyler decides he’ll play dead. Dead people don’t speak.

His mother looks at him with a pleading look. Tyler sinks back into the uncomfortable hospital bed and turns away. She pats his good leg and sighs. “I’ll be back later, okay? Get some rest. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Tyler is so glad he died.

-

The next day, a man with bright yellow hair comes into the room. He’s wearing a baseball cap and has on a _NASA_ shirt. Tyler has never seen him before in his life.

“Uhm, hello,” he says nervously, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. He refuses to make eye contact. Tyler doesn’t blame him. Looking at a corpse is always difficult. “You don’t know me. My name is Josh. I uh, I found your car.”

His name is Josh. He saved Tyler’s life.

Tyler fucking hates him.

“I just wanted to check in and see if you were doing okay. The paramedics said if I had been even a second later, you probably would have died.” he clears his throat. “I’m not here to brag or anything. Sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. I couldn’t stop thinking about your condition, so I’m here.”

Dead people don’t speak. Tyler stares.

Josh hasn’t shaved in awhile, Tyler notes. There’s not enough facial hair to call it a beard, but it’s definitely been a few days. He has heavy bags under his eyes and his lips are chapped. He licks them. “Uhm, yeah. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll uhm, come back another time, since you don’t seem like you’re up for talking right now. That’s cool. I’m not much of a talker myself.” _That seems like a lie,_ Tyler thinks. Josh is doing too much talking.

He lingers for a few seconds, watching Tyler curiously. Tyler stares back. He wonders if Josh knows that Tyler crashed on purpose. That he wanted to kill himself.

Tyler wonders if Josh knows he’s dead.

-

They had him hooked up to all kinds of tubes when he was unconscious. The doctors try to ease him back into real food, but Tyler refuses to eat. Dead people don’t eat. They don’t need to eat.

“You have to eat,” his mother begs him. She hardly ever leaves his room anymore. “Please.”

He crosses his arms across his chest. He remembers how free he felt, driving his car. He felt free flying through the windshield too. What bull that was.

“It’s like, it’s like you don’t want to live,” she chokes, and Tyler smiles. Finally. Finally, she understands.

The doctor pumps medicine into his system to knock him out. They feed him through yet another goddamn tube.

-

He dreams of that man with the yellow hair, Josh, standing in the middle of the highway. He’s like a ghost, wavering a bit, with his eyes closed. He’s wearing white.

He’s pure, Tyler realizes. He doesn’t have a crazy mind to clean.

Tyler speeds along in his black car. Fire surrounds Josh on both sides, blazing high and wild. Josh doesn’t seem bothered by it. He stands still. Closer. Tyler pushes harder on the gas pedal. The word  _move_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say it. He doesn’t have the strength to say it. Tyler waits for impact. Closer, _closer, closer..._

He wakes up covered in sweat. The room is dark and he’s alone.

He’s alone. He’s alone. He’s alone.

Tyler runs his fingers through his short hair and presses back into the hospital bed. He doesn’t know Josh. He knows nothing about Josh. He knows what he looks like and that’s it.

Tyler fucking hates him.

If Josh hadn’t found him, he’d really be dead. He wouldn’t have to pretend.

Tyler claws through his imagination, all his sick sick thoughts. His mind has been infested with death, obsessed with death, for as long as he could remember. He feels awful. He wishes he was dead, dead, dead.

He wonders what would have happened if he had hit Josh with his car. He wonders if he ever will.

-

Josh comes back. He isn’t wearing a hat today, and his hair spills everywhere. He sort of looks like a highlighter, Tyler decides.

“Hey.” he coughs as he drops down into a rigid, plastic chair. “I don’t really know what to say. I was thinking about you again, can’t really get you out of my head, like I said. I’m glad you’re okay. You look a little better.” he nods towards Tyler’s injuries. Josh is right. His bruises are fading. Tyler won’t be able to pretend he’s dead much longer.

“I’m sorry if I’m annoying you. I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I just, I dunno.”

“I hate you,” Tyler whispers. He hasn’t talked in weeks and his voice comes out raspy. “I fucking hate you.”

Josh’s eyes widen and his mouth opens a little bit. Tyler laughs.

“You don’t get it, do you? I wanted to die. I crashed my car on purpose. Because I wanted to fucking kill myself. I was so close to escape-” he cuts off sharply and takes a deep breath. “But you had to come and fuck everything up.”

Josh doesn’t say anything. What would he say?

“I had a dream about you. I almost ran you over.”

“Killing yourself won’t give you release,” he finally says. Josh presses his lips together.

“You don’t understand,” Tyler tries to argue, but Josh shuts him up by pulling off his sweatshirt. He yanks on the hem of his tee and points to the rows of tiny white scars that cover his stomach.

“You see that? Doesn’t work. Pills? Don’t work. I’ve tried. Trust me, I’ve tried. And things don’t get better unless you let yourself be happy.”

“I was so close.” Tyler ignores him. “One second-”

“We all have crazy minds to clean.” Josh grabs his hoodie and leaves.

Tyler cries.

-

They release him from the hospital after all his cuts and bruises have healed and his bones are no longer broken. Instead of going back to his apartment, he’s forced to go back to his parent’s house. Tyler hates it. He hates everything.

He’s not allowed to leave. They lock the doors and keep a close watch on him. His mother forces him to eat, and although he’d like to play dead, he knows he can’t. He eats as little as possible and pokes where he can see his ribs through his skin. He can’t starve himself. That won’t work.

Maybe he ties a noose. Maybe he downs pills.

_Josh says pills don’t work._

Tyler tells the voices to stop.

His mother invites Josh over for dinner. Tyler wants to scream at her to send him away, send him far, _far_ away.

He hates him, he fucking hates him.

Tyler sits across from him at the table and listens to everyone scrape their forks across plates. His mother made mashed potatoes and chicken. His sits untouched.

“So Josh,” she clears his throat, “What do you do for a living?”

“I uhm, I own a record store downtown.”

“Oh seriously? That’s incredible. Isn’t that incredible?” she looks towards her children and her husband, who all nod in agreement. Tyler stares at his plate. “Tyler loves music. Don’t you Tyler?”

Dead people don’t speak. Tyler says nothing.

He knows the only reason Josh is here is because he found the car, because he saved Tyler’s life. He wouldn’t be here if Tyler were dead.

Josh clears his throat and pushes out from the table. “Right. Well, thank you so much for dinner, Mrs. Joseph. I appreciate the invite.”

She becomes frantic. Josh is the only thing keeping her family together right now. The minute he leaves, Tyler will be back in his bedroom, refusing to leave, and his siblings will wander awkwardly around the house, avoiding him. They don’t know the reason Tyler crashed his car. They don’t need to.

“You don’t have to leave yet Josh, we haven’t even gotten to dessert yet!”

“I really should be going.” he looks over at Tyler, who’s currently pushing around mashed potatoes with his fork. Tyler hates him.

“Oh.” her stance becomes rigid as she follows Josh towards the front door. No one else moves; Tyler sits still, his fork hovering. “Well, thank you for coming over, I really appreciate what you did for my son.”

“Anyone would have done it.” he slides his jacket over his arms. “We’ll do this again sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replies, loud enough for Tyler to here. The second the door closes, Tyler is darting through the living room and out the front door to Josh’s car. He slides into the passenger seat and looks over at Josh’s confused expression.

“What?” he asks.

“Drive,” Tyler demands. Josh looks back over at the open front door, where Tyler’s mother stands waving her finger. She shouts something incoherent.

“Your parents-”

“Fucking _drive,”_ he repeats. Finally, Josh complies, flooring it out of the neighborhood. He lives close, Tyler finds out. He doesn’t know why he did this, why he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Josh’s car. He doesn’t know why he follows Josh into his apartment, or why he sits down on Josh’s sofa.

“What’s up?” Josh sits down on the floor across from him and crosses his arms.

“I hate you,” whispers Tyler. Josh shrugs his shoulders.

“Heard that before. Tell me what’s up.”

“Tell me why you tried to kill yourself.”

Josh looks up at him uncomfortably and sighs. “Depression hits hard.”

“Like I didn’t know that,” Tyler replies miserably. Josh shrugs again.

“Felt useless, I guess. Had a friend who told me I meant nothing. And I looked back on my life and realized I really had nothing to live for. I never went to college, about flunked out of high school, disappointed my parents. So I downed a bottle of pills and waited.” he smiles. “My roommate found me and took me to the hospital. They pumped my stomach. Life moved on. I failed. I started cutting myself. Realized that wasn’t doing much either.”

Tyler blinks. “Do you still cut yourself?”

“No. Turned towards music.” he jabs a thumb towards the general location of his bedroom. “I play the drums, so.”

“How?” Tyler about falls to the floor. “How can you just, just stop?”

“It’s hard,” Josh agrees. “I never wanted to leave my bed, afterwards. Thought I was so stupid for failing to fucking kill myself. I started going to therapy, they put me on more pills, and nothing ever worked. One day I woke up, and decided, ‘fuck it man. I’m done. I’m gonna stop being sad.’ And I never looked back. I took out a loan from the bank, opened up my record shop, and I’ve never been happier. ‘Course, I still have some pretty shitty days, but doesn’t everyone?” he pauses, wanting to make sure Tyler is still listening. Tyler is.

“I was on my way home from work when I found you. I saw the flames first, and then the car. Parts were missing, and I stopped, called 911, and then,” he chokes, runs a hand through his bright hair, “I saw you. Your limbs were so tangled, I thought it was too late, and it almost had been. Please, don’t look at this situation like you failed. Look at it as a second chance. Like I said. We all have crazy minds to clean.”

Tyler starts crying. He ignores the wetness on his face and grabs Josh by his shirt collar aggressively, leaning in so close that their noses touch. “I hate you,” his voice is hushed, “I fucking hate you.”

“You hate me,” Josh concludes. He doesn’t move. And then, then, Tyler kisses him. It’s hot and heavy and messy, but Josh kisses back.

They met a month ago, Tyler realizes. They’ve only spoke to one another a few times. But, Josh is wise. He’s had experience. He found Tyler, he stopped Tyler from dying, and Tyler hates him. Fucking hates him.

“Tell me why you hate me,” Josh whispers as he pulls Tyler’s shirt over his head. Tyler grunts as he grinds against Josh’s clothed cock.

“You saved me when I didn’t want to be saved,” he growls. Somehow they find themselves in Josh’s bedroom, where Tyler is pushed onto his back and straddled. Josh’s mouth doesn’t leave his neck. “There’s an infestation in my mind’s imagination, and you, you fucker, you made me sift through all that shit again.”

Tyler is naked now, Josh down to his boxers. He reaches over Tyler’s body to pull open his nightstand drawer and fumbles with a bottle of lube. He coats his fingers and shoves one up Tyler’s ass before he can say anything else.

“It’s good for you,” Josh spits back, his free hand reaching for Tyler’s cock. He pumps hard and fast. “One day you aren’t going to hate me.”

“Fuck you,” Tyler shouts as Josh puts in another finger. “I fucking hate you.”

“Keep saying that.” he adds a third. Tyler’s back arches, his muscles glisten with sweat, and his fingers clench in the duvet. “You don’t know me.”

“You don’t know me either.” Tyler tries as Josh spits on his hand and goes back to jerking Tyler off. “Try me, fucking try me.”

“You crashed your car because you wanted release,” Josh finally peels his boxers off and dumps them onto the floor before he rolls on a condom, “Like I said, you aren’t getting any release that way.”

“We’re different, just because you didn’t doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.” Josh tosses Tyler’s legs over his shoulders, lines himself up, and pushes in slowly. Tyler feels his vocal chords rip in half. “FUCK YOU!”

“Yeah? Well fuck you too!” he speeds up his thrusts. “Why the fuck did you come here then?”

“Because!”

“Because why?” Tyler screams again. Josh grins viciously.

“Because maybe you’re fucking right!” He comes all over his stomach, all over Josh’s fingers; Tyler is exhausted from everything, literally everything. Josh comes soon after, and he pulls out, flopping down next to Tyler with his breathing heavy.

They take a few minutes to collect themselves. “Talk about a quick fuck,” Josh mutters. Tyler laughs.

“It’s been years,” he replies.

“Yeah,” Josh agrees. He peels himself off the bed and disappears into the bathroom to clean up. When he comes back, he’s got on a fresh pair of boxers. “I’ll wash my sheets later. You wanna shower?”

“Not really,” Tyler admits.

“Me neither.” Josh climbs back next to him. Tyler reaches for his boxers below him and begrudgingly pulls them on. He’s sticky.

Josh watches him. “Were you serious?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Maybe you are right. I mean, my parents, they seemed pretty freaked out I almost died.”

“People would have missed you.”

“I guess you’re right.” Tyler turns towards the window where moonlight shines in through the cracks of the blinds. “I guess I wouldn’t have accomplished much.”

“That was angry sex,” Josh concludes absentmindedly. He hums to himself. “You’re absolutely right.”

“How do I make things better?”

“You smoke ‘em out,” Josh uses a hand to make a _whoosh_ gesture. “Poof. Gone.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not. That shit takes time. But I’ll be here.”

Tyler scoffs. “You hardly know me.”

“Then tell me who you are.” Josh sits up and looks at him. “Tell me.”

“Shower with me,” Tyler says instead. “Aftercare is important, y’know.”

Josh complies. He leaves to start the shower and Tyler looks around the room. He shifts painfully, because yeah, his ass fucking hurts.

Josh’s room is bland. He has a drumkit in the corner, and that’s about as exciting as it gets. Tyler thinks Josh is a lot deeper than he lets off.

Don’t get him wrong though. Tyler hates Josh. He fucking hates him.

“It’s hot,” Josh calls from behind the cracked bathroom door. “C’mon before it turns cold. Trust me, that happens sometimes.”

“Okay,” Tyler pads into the bathroom and sheds his boxers once more.

Josh washes his hair. They kiss some more.

It’s the first time Tyler’s felt okay in years.

-

Josh offers Tyler a job at his record store. Tyler wholeheartedly agrees.

“Your mother said you liked music,” Josh says one morning as he’s helping Tyler alphabetize some records. “That’s kind of a broad statement.”

“I write,” Tyler mumbles. He puts an Abba record in front of The Beatles.

“Write what? Songs?”

“Poetry. It’s lame.”

“I don’t think that’s lame. You were an English major in college, right?”

“Yep,” Tyler adds extra emphasize to the p as he turns around to grab another stack from the counter. “Didn’t get me anywhere really. I had a couple poems published in magazines.”

“That’s pretty cool dude.”

“Sure.” Elvis goes behind Dexy’s Midnight Runners. “Overall though, I guess music is a therapeutic thing for me. Helps me forget about the shit world we live in.”

“Understandable. You play anything?”

“Piano. Sold my soul to a demon so I was pretty much a genius.” he answers dryly, causing Josh to crack a smile.

“You’ll have to play for me sometime. Let me see your hands.” With a huff, Tyler holds out his hands so Josh can look. He takes them gently and runs his fingers over every individual knuckle. “You feel this?” Tyler nods. “You’re alive right now Tyler. Close your eyes.” Tyler does. “You have blood pumping through your body. Your bones mended themselves back together. You have an immune system fighting for your life. And one day, you’re going to see that staying alive is worth it. One day, you’ll smoke ‘em out through the basement.” Josh lets Tyler’s hands fall by his side and he plants a kiss to Tyler’s cheek. “You’ve got slender fingers. Perfect for playing the piano.”

Tyler hates him, absolutely fucking hates him.

-

He has another dream about Josh. This time, Josh is wearing his baseball cap backwards, his white shirt waving in the wind. This time, Josh is sitting at a drumset engulfed in flames.

Tyler’s car swerves between both sides of the road. He’s choking on hot tar. _Move,_ he tries to scream, but Josh can’t hear him. He plays his drums.

Tyler braces for impact and closes his eyes. Please don’t let him hit Josh. Please. He doesn’t want to die anymore, he has so much to live for-

The car barely misses Josh. The roof falls off, and Tyler stands up, his arms held high towards the sky. He screams in triumph.

He did it. He fucking did it.

-

“Tyler, wake up.” Josh shakes him awake, and Tyler’s eyes blink open. His breaths are steady.

“I didn’t kill you,” he says. “I didn’t hit you with the car.”

“What?”

“You represent my soul. You were wearing all white, you were like a fucking angel-” Tyler shakes his head. He’s getting sidetracked. “My soul. I didn’t get it. I thought my soul was so fucking heavy, dirty, you know, but you... you were right Josh. You were right. This, this is a second chance. _You’re_ my second chance.”

Josh smiles and pulls Tyler towards him to press his chapped lips against Tyler’s jaw.

“I’m ready to be happy,” Tyler whispers. He moves his head to kiss Josh’s lips. The two of them are soft and gentle, and they kiss until they can’t breathe.

Tyler hates him. Tyler fucking hates him.

But one day, he knows he won’t.


End file.
